The Monroes: Autumn Leaves
by OllieOfFreeOxen
Summary: Adam Monroe and his 12th wife are stuck in Revolutionary France. Part III of IV. This part includes Elizabeth, time travel paradoxes, Simon-Pierre, immigration regulations, a war of abilities, and Ian. Ignorant of Season 3, obviously. And for good reason!
1. Elizabeth

**A/N: **Dear all new readers, first of all, this fanfiction can be fully read, enjoyed, and understood by itself.

if you would like to take a look at the previous chapters, which explain a hell of a lot more, they may be found here:

**Part One:** /s/4609031/1/The_Monroes_Summer_Days

**Part Two:** /s/4478609/1/The_Monroes_April_Showers

And now, I proudly present to you:

**Part Three  
**

**Chapter One: Elizabeth**

"Mei Monroe. So today is the day."

"Mr. Nakamura. I-" Mei's voice dropped. She looked up cautiously at the small man in the doorway before her with at least a hundred layers of wrinkled skin. Immediately, she looked back down, eyes shut. She felt like a school girl again, although she should've felt much worse.

He grinned behind his big glasses, seeming extremely pleased with himself. "I have reason to believe that you are looking for father. You think he is being held here? I assure you that the Company has nothing to do with his sudden disappearance."

Mei nodded. Her body seemed to freeze up the more she stood in the concrete halls of Company headquarters. "The Company is his only main enemy; I don't know who else would have taken him." She started to tremble, but she bit her lip. "Please Mr. Nakamura, my son's on trial. They'll execute h-him if they can't find the b-body- a-and... I... I..."

The tears started to come. Mei just bowed down lower. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Nakamura. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I kn-know I could never say that enough... but I- I realize it now.... How much... p-pain... suffering I m-must have..."

Mr. Nakamura's smile disappeared, and his own eyes lowered as his bony hands clenched. "No matter how much sadness and anger comes to me every time I think of Sayu, I cannot blame you for it. Mei," he said, and lifted her chin, although she furiously faced it back down to the floor. "You were merely a pawn in your father's game of revenge against me, and I cannot let such a game continue."

"I forgive you if you will let me show you something." Nakamura looked her sternly in the face.

Mei's face softened. She swallowed, nodding, and then looked up carefully at the old man.

He led her inside his sitting room. "Mei Monroe, do you remember one very fateful night when you were just a little girl? There was a festival that night. Wouldn't you like to see that night again?"

* * *

On every twenty-seventh day of July, Elizabeth only did one thing since she was a year old. Of course, she hadn't done it when she was a few months old, for that was the actual day of the whole international tragedy.

Here she was again, standing, head bowed, with her maroon summer dress that she had just bought a week ago, not that Joseph Allen Day was any kind of fashion opportunity or anything. Her shoes were new as well, shiny and white, standing in the grass while the rustling willow trees bent in the breeze.

The memorial was a twenty foot statue of the man enclosed in an ornate canopy with an arrangement of fountains at his back. No one knew just what image to capture of the legend, so it was brought about as an opportunity for artists to display their interpretations of him every few months. On this day, it was an exact replica of him with a wicked bronze smile on his face while a bronze knife cut into his bronze little finger.

A little more than four thousand people were standing at the memorial in a similar way, dressed in nice clothes, paying respects to the man whose bravery and leadership abilities had made the world recover from Year Zero.

Elizabeth and her family always came to the Joseph Allen Memorial Ceremony for a different reason. By the public, this reason was so that their reputation would not be tainted. Elizabeth's very own uncle, Charles Ferguson, was the one who had killed him after all, and by attending the ceremony, they would prove their loyalty to the region.

This reason was very similar to the real reason. By Elizabeth, the reason was because her mother was a coward.

Her family held many secrets, but two topped them all. The only reason Charlie was even charged with the murder was because a witness had seen him following the former Prime Minister on one of his scenic walks. Charlie had only pleaded guilty because of his lack of will to live while he covered for Dana, his sister-in-law, and Elizabeth's mother.

The other secret was that Joseph Allen hadn't been killed. He hadn't died at all, as far as anyone knew. Dana was there, she could've shot him right where she was, but before she could, he disappeared completely. She ran, figuring his guards had saved him. The strange thing was that they hadn't, and not wanting to have a mess of ransoms and embarrassment on their hands, they officially announced Joseph Allen dead, and so a new holiday was born.

She looked up at the statue, admiring the artist's handiwork. He had even got that timeless expression of Mr. Allen's eyes, the absolutely delighted and sort of mad eyes that was caught right from the video of The First Speech that she kept in her private collection of great moments in history.

At fifteen, Elizabeth knew many things of Mr. Allen, but had little concern for many of them. It was going on thirty-five years since Year Zero and frankly, few of her generation cared of what humans did before they had abilities. She could also say that only a handful of students in her year actually knew of the Schaefer Head Disaster, let alone cared about the related people and reasons for death related to it. It could be accurately said that Elizabeth didn't share her parent's understandings for dislike of Mr. Allen.

She had never known the man. How could she hate him?

* * *

"I've heard they've got pumpkin, now. Doesn't that sound better than coffee?"

Elizabeth shook her head, kicking a rock across the street. "Never. I'll never betray my dearest flavor. If coffee ice cream was a person, I'd marry them right then and there," she laughed with a smile.

Ian sighed. "Just suggesting," he shrugged. "Every year, the same walk back from the memorial to Hartzell's, and every year, the same bloody coffee." With a shrug, he leaned on the door, and bells shook as they entered the ice cream parlor.

Elizabeth meant to reprimand her brother for his language, but the thought was scattered from her mind as her eyes rested on one certain woman that took a seat by the window.

She was in perhaps her late twenties with brown hair that was cut moderately short in the front while it went down her back. In fact, apart from it the length, it was the same color of Elizabeth's. She couldn't see the woman's face, but Elizabeth spotted one thing that made her eyes pop.

She was wearing her jeans.

They weren't just any jeans. They were perfect jeans, like the ones that fit you like a dream. They were the ones that Elizabeth found a year ago just when she learned she wouldn't grow again and promised herself that she would fit into those jeans forever. She had done a lot of things to them as well, sewing patches of bright colors and plastic jewels down the sides. They were a one-of-a-kind pair, and here this lady was licking at her ice cream, wearing her jeans.

It made her mad.

"Heya, John. I'll take a Black Walnut, and I guess Beth still wants her Coffee," she heard her brother say.

Immediately, the woman turned her head. She saw Elizabeth staring- or glaring at her, and she just raised an eyebrow, but made herself look friendly and pleasant. She stood, and walked over to Elizabeth.

"Hi," said the woman, licking a bit of ice cream from her finger. She still tried to hold a smile, but Elizabeth's scowl made it difficult.

Elizabeth blinked and glared harder. "Those are my jeans, there," she replied.

"Yeah?" She looked down at herself, admiring them. "Yeah, I guess… I mean, no. No." She looked back up and shook her head. "No, they're not. They're mine, actually."

"Beth, aren't those your jeans?" Ian had arrived with the ice cream, and he started licking his Black Walnut as it melted. He held up the Coffee to Elizabeth, but she didn't take it. "Oh hi, I'm Beth's brother, Ian," the boy smiled, and lifted up Elizabeth's ice cream high in her face so that she'd have to take it. His hand was then free to give the lady's a shake. "It's nice to meet you, Miss… Er, Mrs.?"

The woman looked awestruck, but she took the hand. She grinned, genuinely, and said, "Miss… Well, yeah. Miss Ferguson. Hey Elizabeth," her eyes drifted back to the fuming teenager. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Without... this ice cream shop?" She seemed to laugh at the last word.

"No," hissed Elizabeth. "We can't just talk! What are you pulling, trying to be me?"

Miss Ferguson took a moment to lick at her ice cream again, and Elizabeth noticed that it was coffee as well. "I'm not _trying_ to be you. I _am_ you. Well… ah… sort of, I guess." With a non-impressed look from the girl she added, "I mean, I'm only a future version of you."

Elizabeth scowled again. She snatched Ian by the arm, and within the millisecond, they were in at the edge of the forest with their house in view at the top of the hill.

"No, wait! Stop!"

The woman was there as well, up near the middle of the forest, and she stomped off to get near them.

Elizabeth gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, teleporting to the next safe place she could think of: her grandmother's house. However, once she did, within a few seconds again, the woman was there again, like she could read her mind.

"Stop! You, just listen to me!" Miss Ferguson drew in a much more irritated tone.

"No!" Elizabeth let go of Ian (who went on eating his ice cream). "You can't be me! You can't have just broken the time barrier! It's impossible!"

Miss Ferguson smiled in a sort of familiar way. "No, you know very well that it's not impossible. It's just illegal." She also checked her watch. "Speaking of, I've got to get back to work, so I don't have enough time to keep chasing you."

"Okay, alright!" Elizabeth made out sarcastically, stepping up to give a plastic smile to the woman. "What sort of special message does my future self have for me? And while we're at it, what sort of future do you come from, I wonder?"

The woman just took a breath of a relief. "A future where I can't tell you what happens, because the slim chance that it might change anything is actually a big chance. Anyway, I need you to do something for me... or actually, for yourself. You do have a obsessive want to time travel, don't you?"

Elizabeth paused for a second, considering this. "I… have…" she nodded cautiously.

"Good," Miss Ferguson now fully smiled. "So, what I did was I/you saved Mr. Allen and his girlfriend by teleporting them to 1785 before Mum could kill him. So, in about eight months, right before the war when the international government gives permission for unlimited immigration, as people will be shuffling around for permanent land rights, I need you to pick them up, and bring them back to the present. Okay?"

"What?"

Miss Ferguson checked her watch again. "Okay, I'm only repeating what was said to me at your age because it's so complicated that I really can't explain it, but for now, you do know that Joseph Allen is the most influential and powerful man in _Caelestis_ history? So, by extension, he is the most important figure in the entire modern world, correct?"

Elizabeth blinked, ignoring the time travel factor, but she could surprisingly follow along with herself. "So by saving the most important man's life, he owes you… I mean, us. So, he'll be forced to make time travel legal for us, because without time travel, he would be dead." She mirrored the smile, now. "And Mr. Allen's greatest fear is death. He'll do anything to escape it."

She nodded. "That's right. I left them/you will leave them in Paris, May 21st, 1785, and they're under as two Austrians by the names of Ferdinand and Claudia Schulde. And erm, make sure to remember to go back to yourself to tell my-your past self, just as I'm doing now. I can't really tell you anything more, other than that you'll know when."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "So... when I'm older, I'll have to save Mr. Allen from being shot, teleport them to Paris, 1785, then tell my past self to teleport them to her present?" She surprised herself and her future self of how well she understood it.

"Exactly! Just remember eight months from now to pick them up in the second place. And remember not to think about it too much, because that gives you a nasty headache, trust me.... and now look at the time! I have to go, sorry!" As abruptly as she was encountered, she rubbed her wristwatch and disappeared completely.

Elizabeth blinked wildly. "Wow, predestination paradox," she whispered to her brother, feeling sort of awkward. "I just have to time travel to 1785. And it's completely legal. I think."

She rubbed her head.

* * *

**A/N**: Yeah, long chapter, I know. This is the longest chapter, I swear! So, you liking so far? Confusing so far? Reviews are very, very much loved. Very, very, very muchly, even if they're just to say 'hi!' Compliment, criticize, ask a question. Please, review!


	2. The Eighteenth Century

**Chapter Two: The Eighteenth Century**

"Fuck. I can't believe this. Joseph! This is beyond belief! Fuck, couldn't you have not been such a dumbass and not provoke her like that! You could've died, Joseph! You could've died!"

Kate, not minding the many 18th century peasants that were trying not to stare, began hitting Adam about on the shoulder. However, this caused the many people around the street corner to take concern with their notice. They looked with a curious eye at the very active woman's green silk robe until someone mentioned something about the Far East, but this still brought questions as to why she had blonde hair and European looks.

Adam, on the other hand, did take much notice to the people noticing him, but didn't have much concern over his consideration to take his gray cotton t-shirt off and wrap it around his leather shoes, which were a technological marvel in themselves that wouldn't be conceived for at least another twenty years.

"Shut up, just stop it," he breathed out, minding which road they were actually on. "The chances of her actually shooting me-"

Kate continued on, tripping on the cobblestones with her slippers. "But Elizabeth said she did shoot you. Joseph, if not for her, you'd be dead! How could you be so careless! So stupid!"

Her dearly beloved shook his head, stopping himself from doing something really terrible. "Nevermind. You just don't understand…"

"Fuck that! Don't tell me-- especially me-- about things_ I_ don't understand!"

Adam took a breath, still minding the street names. "The game's no fun when you keep winning all of the time," he said.

"It's not a game! Joseph! Joseph, listen to me!" Kate pulled at Adam's shoulder to get him to look in her glowering eyes. "It's not a game!" she said. "This is your life! This is our life!"

For a second, Adam shuddered once he looked into her desperate eyes. "I'm sorry," he said more quietly, though not any more sincerely. "Can we move on, now? My friend lives just right here." Just to their left was a darkly bricked shop with large windows that contained a mess of ridiculous dresses.

"No! Stop! You can't just--"

"My God! Monsieur Dupont! Where did you go? How did you disappear? We all thought you were dead!" The man, a sort of tall and skinny thing with a fine white wig and a set of perfectly kept dark violet clothes, ran to Adam's feet, and promptly started kissing his left hand.

Adam acted completely natural, making no motion to stop the man. "There, there, Labelle. I'm sorry I had to go on short notice. I was traveling abroad, to the Far East." He broke his fluid French with a pathetic sigh. "I've had a rough time, there I'm afraid, Labelle, so I'm going to have to ask you--"

For the first time, Labelle noticed that Adam was wearing nothing but blue canvas on his legs. "Say not another word, my Lord! Not another word!" Labelle skittered behind a few mannequins to his back room, and there was some thrashing and crashing to be heard. "There has been a few styles come and gone in your absence, my Lord, but considering your taste, I'd recommend a grand entrance! Something to make Versailles give you a standing ovation!"

"Labelle--"

The man exited his back room with a pile of baby blue satin, lace, and a bag of buttons grasped in his fingers. "Yes, my Lord?"

Adam spoke again very regally. "I would like to keep my return as quiet as possible for now. The lady and I just need something to wear for now. Just something one would wear around the manor, not anything too flashy. Not anything that takes much time to prepare."

Labelle blinked, cocking his head. "A pre-made? Well... yes, my lord. Of course, my lord." He seemed disappointed for a moment, but his energy picked up again once he spotted the robed woman beside Adam that was looking curiously at some of his samples.

"My lady!" He ran over to her as well, furiously kissing her hand. "Please, excuse me, my Lady. I did not see you there! I am very, very, forever sorry."

Kate snatched her hand away at once, looking with a raised eyebrow at the man. "_O__ui,_" she nodded, unsure of herself, "_Bonjour, Monsieur._"

Labelle took a step back, looking confused again. "Eh... My lady, what an accent you have!" he stepped back and tried to smile.

"How could you say such a thing?" Adam pretended to have a fit. "Me? Of all people, marry an Englishwoman? No, of course not! She's Austrian!"

Kate quickly made a convincing effort to say some things in German like "Your shop is lovely," and "I like sausages."

"But of course, my Lord," Labelle blushed slightly under the makeup. "I'm sorry, my Lord-- ah, my Lady, as well. Deeply sorry." He kissed both of their hands again until Adam accepted his apology and told him to get to finding clothes already.

Labelle called for his brother, a shorter, but just as fashionable man wearing deep blue clothes, who went to tending to Kate while Labelle started on Adam.

"These trousers! Where did you get them? A shipyard? My God, they're thick, too! Like leather! Blech!" Labelle continued to take Adam's measurements, surprised at the inches he had gained in a little over a year.

"Labelle," asked Adam, spreading out his arms. "What have you heard of my property? Was it well taken care of after my disappearance?"

The tailor shook his head, unsure what to say. "Well, I do believe that the servants that are still there--"

"How many have left?"

"Of course, my Lord, don't only trust the rumors I hear, but about half have left for other work while the other half stays and runs the place how they want to, with parties about every night. On the other hand," Labelle's face brightened. "I have a whole outfit just your color that I made for a picky Baron a few years back. Just a little hemming and it should be perfect!"

Adam put on an uneasy smiled and nodded. "Good," he said. "Perfect."

There was a scream and then a groan coming up from the other back room.

"Kate," he added in German, calling up through the shop, "how are you getting along?"

"Can you tell this man to stop squeezing my waist? The fat's still not going away!"

Adam snickered. The thoughts of his past here had already been vaporized from his mind.

* * *

Later that day, Adam and Kate were finally set in a age appropriate clothes. Adam was wearing a deep and dark brown outfit with a matching coat and white stockings and underclothes. Kate was dressed more simply, in a pastel blue dress with less than five layers.

"I haven't worn a dress since I was twelve. God, I look like the pub girl... or the innkeeper lady from that one video game," she had said while she kept spinning in front of the mirror, although she had also complimented Labelle for his stitching and handiwork.

Meanwhile, Adam couldn't keep himself from smiling every time he looked at her. "You should be glad that Marie Antoinette had just set off the country style. If not, you could never be caught sleeping in something like that."

Adam had also told Labelle to just send him the bill once he made his homecoming public, which shouldn't take but a few weeks, he explained. Labelle said he would do just that, that exactly, and thanked Adam for the business.

"What did he keep calling you? Count? So I guess you were still pretty important even back then?" asked Kate once they were out walking to the far side of town. She noticed that Adam had asking for the toned down type of clothing, because although their clothes were bright and spotless, they were in generally the same style as most of the French commoners.

Adam shook his head, pulling Kate out of the way of a cart of cabbages. "I was Clement Marc Antoine Dupont de Aumont, écuyer, Comte d'Lyonnais. If you keep talking long enough about how your grandfather on you mother's side was married to the daughter of the Duke of This Provence, whose grandfather was almost King, if not for that bloody adviser that-- they're forced to believe that you're noble. Even in Versailles, although you need official proof to be invited to the court, there is enough people so that you can sneak into the parties unnoticed."

"But you've got to have had some kind of money," insisted Kate. "You couldn't sneak into Versailles in rags."

He shrugged. "Once you drop a life, a name, and pick up a new one, you transfer your bank account along with it, but the manor was a gift from my father-in-law, as he was never granted any sons."

Kate stopped dead in the middle of the street. Adam had to drag her out of the way of some horsemen riding by. "You were married? To whom?"

He sighed and said very simply, "Frederica, daughter of Louis II de Sauvageot, 4th Duc d'Mercoeur. A pretty little thing, if not just completely daft. We were married in 1783, she died a year later, and then I left for Japan."

"Oh," Kate considered the thought. "I'm... sorry, then."

"You're not."

Kate blinked at him and licked her lips. "You're right. I'm not." She looked at her heels as she walked. "So I assume you carried your money to Japan with you? What's going to happen when Labelle sends the bill?"

Adam sidestepped to avoid a few women rushing by. "I hope that we won't be here long enough to find out." He looked to her. "I really did hate this century. It's ludicrous that I have to live through it again."

* * *

**A/N:** "Clement Marc Antoine Dupont de Aumont, écuyer, Comte d'Lyonnais." You have no idea how much research I went through about Pre-Revolutionary France to get what kind of name Adam would have, how names worked, what were the most common names, what kind of noble he would be, how he would be a noble without history, what places he would say he ruled over, how he would be treated how great the chances were people believed him, and all the things that have to do with his tid-bit history. Not to mention Pre-Revolutionary conditions in general. Hours. And hours. And most of the helpful information was from Wikipedia. And I did the same thing with my Norrington story! About France!

You know what the messed up thing is? I don't even take French! I have no interest in ever going to France! I'm learning freakin' Spanish! I don't know why I put myself through this extensive historical research that barely shows through in the end. I guess... I'm just insane.

Ah.


	3. The Living

**Chapter Three: The Living**

It had been more than two days that Adam and Kate were stuck in the 18th century, and Kate stated very firmly that she would not be sleeping in some dirty alleyway once again. On the third day, she decided that they should look for jobs as she was personally sick of eating apples from that half-blind man at the edge of the marketplace. Not only were the apples significantly smaller than her usual specially engineered fruit from back home, but she also claimed that they had a very unpleasant after-taste. Thirdly, she would, in the next day or so, find a way to take a shower or bath, even if it would seem unusual for her to do so every week, let alone every day, especially since they were trying to blend in with the middle class.

They had found success in a three-story building in the middle of the city made with cream-colored bricks that had been new quite a long time ago, as shown by their now brown color that varied across the front and the way that it didn't seem to stand straight up, but instead leaned over a nearly unnoticeable bit to its left side.

"Good Morning," said Adam, smiling kindly at the man across the counter. He wasn't thickly built, but he was definitely was tall, and that still made him look forbidding, or so thought Kate, who only took a glance at him before she took on more notice to the many breads, cakes, deserts, and other baked goods that were displayed before the man's counter.

Ten minutes later, Adam was behind the counter, seated with the baker, Jean-Clair Bussereau, who was very engaged in pleasant, laughing conversation with the other man. He later led them readily upstairs, which gave Adam time to explain what was going on.

"He said his father had died recently, and his mother had died as well from 'heartbreak.' They've got a free room for us to use, but of course the rent's going to be high, even with you working the store," he told Kate in German as the stairs creaked and cracked among walls that warned dangerously of splinters.

Kate looked with distaste at it all, and snapped back, "Me work the store? Why- Oh, God. Nevermind. I thought France was supposed to be the good country of women's rights!"

Her partner ignored these complaints, instead nodding and chuckling at a comment that Jean-Clair had made. They arrived at the room soon enough, and the baker displayed it proudly.

It wasn't a very big room, nor was it a very nice room. There were two large windows on the far side, set upon a milk-washed wall made of the same unsafe splintery material as the hall. The floor was wooden as well, but it did compliment the room with a rustic look, complete with nails sticking out every few feet. The good thing was that there was a wire bed frame that took up half of it, along with something that resembled a mattress on top of it. Additionally, a wooden table was up to the left wall that held a few essentials, like a large white bowl of water and a hand mirror.

Adam and Kate's friendly disposition faded and they tried to keep themselves from gagging.

"How much is the rent, again?" asked Adam. His mouth twitched as he put a delicate finger on the bed frame.

Jean-Clair still looked very proud. "Four sous a month with your lady's hours. Not a better deal in all of Paris, if I may say so myself."

They left quite soon afterward.

"Four sous? For twelve deniers to a sou, that's about about twenty quid a month, even with inflation." Kate thought aloud, tagging behind Adam's strong steps.

He, however, was deeper in thought and was generally in a very rigid and quiet mood. "No. Four sous is far too much. And for a place like that? Leave it to the dogs."

For once, Kate cracked a teasing little smile. "You just don't want to ruin your complexion by breaking a sweat every once in a while."

"And why should I? I haven't done any sort of hard labor since I was a child, and I'm certainly not going to start now," he grumbled. "Have I told you that I hated this century? It was bad enough even in the upper class. I can't imagine the same thing at the bottom of the scale."

"Well, if I'm going to be Little Miss Bread Lady, you've at least got to find something. It doesn't have to be hard labor. For all I care, you could be a professional pick-pocket, if people in this period actually had wallets in their pocket. Just come up with the money."

For a moment, Adam looked hopeful, but again, he said nothing for a quite a while. This was during the next few hours, where they searched hopelessly for another place to stay, and even begged a few building owners if they had any room at all. About three in their search did have an extra room, but just as Jean-Clair said, their rooms were twice as appalling with a higher rent.

Once the sun touched the horizon, they were at the bakery once again, with the man with a pleased look upon his face.

"This is my wife, Jeanne, my little Julie-René, and my brothers, Simon-Pierre and Philippe-Charlot. I also have a sister, Louise, but she lives with her husband and only helps a few times a week," he introduced a solidly built woman, a long-haired girl of about four years that was falling asleep, and two other young men, who had the same looks, but were considerably younger, in their late and middle teenage years. He also introduced Adam and Kate to his family, and they all gave nods of respect.

Philippe-Charlot, however, also made note to put some extra attention on Kate. "So you're Austrian? Not a word of French?" he asked curiously.

Kate stared and blinked for a second, and realized that Adam was not always kind enough to translate every word.

"_Oui?_" she shrugged. The others just laughed.

"Better now?" Adam kissed Kate's ear, wrapping his arm tighter around her as they both lay on the thing that resembled a mattress, but was more like a large pillow half-stuffed with feathers.

She nodded a little, feeling somewhat better than she was before laying out on the street. "I still can't sleep," she whispered. "It's so different. So primitive. I don't know how people can live like this."

"Hopefully, it will only be a little longer," he said into her ear.

Kate turned to her other side, now facing Adam straight on. It was dark, the dead of the night, but the lack of curtains made for a sliver of moonlight to allow her to see his face.

She started to cry, weep, and sob into Adam's shoulder. Afterwards, they were both forced into sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Lil' mini chapters mean I will update soon after. And I think I'll name my kid Philippe-Charlot. It took forever to figure out the Bussereau family, but I think what I decided worked out pretty well. Apparently, a lot of people in France have (had?) a lot of double names. Quite awesome.


	4. The Twelfth Maria

**Chapter Four: The Twelfth Maria**

It had been some time since the Schuldes had joined the Bussereau family bakery and ever time he looked upon Monsieur Schulde's bored and disinterested face, or noticed Madame Schulde's fits of stifled laughter when his brother bragged of his new oven system, he realized that he knew nothing of these people at all. All that he knew was all that Jean-Clair had told him, and that was that they were from Austria, and nothing more about that.

On this particularly lazy summer day, he found himself done with his midday baking as half the sun was halfway past the horizon, and the rush of morning customers had already came and left.

"This is too early for me," said Kate, yawning and gazing into the sun. She was seated at the front counter, and to Simon-Pierre, she sat like a man, leaning on her elbow and propping one foot upon the rung of the stool, although her dress draped gracefully over it all. Another thing Simon-Pierre noticed here was that she didn't care too much for style, and while the most impoverished women outside were passing by the window with wire frames and thick, unnatural hair, it almost seemed that her husband had to force her to put her hair in braids at night to induce some volume.

Simon-Pierre nodded, but eventually snapped back from his curious thoughts. "You're learning French fast!" he gasped in surprise. She merely smiled weakly and nodded, as if she was keeping up one of her secrets again.

For a few more minutes, it was quiet again, and Simon-Pierre pretended to listen to the fire as to check if his breads wouldn't burn. In reality, he was busy being frustrated about why he didn't know anything about these people.

"Madame Schulde--" he started.

She stopped him, looking particularly open for conversation. "Please, call me… er, call me…" Her eyes suddenly dropped to the corner as her cheeks flushed red. She muttered kind of swear that he couldn't understand, but then landed on the word. "Claudia! Call me Claudia, please."

Simon-Pierre could no longer hide his confusion, but he tried to be polite about it. "I'd much rather call you Madame."

"No, that's… how do you say… ridiculous? I am twenty-two, only a few years older than you, correct?"

He nodded, adding, "Yes, I'm eighteen."

"So, why are we using titles?" Kate questioned as if she had a point.

Simon-Pierre could think of a multitude of reasons, but he still surrendered in the end. "May I ask… Claudia… how old is your husband?"

For a while she looked blankly at him, but then she smiled very grandly and started laughing to herself as she usually did. "Old," she said, simply, but after a short pause she added, "He has secrets that he refuses to tell even me."

"But you still are very close," he complimented.

Kate nodded weakly, again, and her amused expression seemed to melt. "He isn't my husband," she said, looking out the window. "I'm not married to him, but don't tell anyone. It's easier to say that we are married."

"Oh?" Simon-Pierre said with interested eyes. "So you- oh, please excuse me. Nevermind."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What? Go on. I won't be offended."

He shrugged. "It's hardly offensive at all. When I first met you, I thought you were a twelfth Maria and Ferdinand was your brother."

"A… twelfth Maria? What is that?" She looked as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know. Your queen, Maria Theresa, had eleven daughters she named Maria, although they had second names like Marie Antoinette. Excuse me again, but two certainly do act as strange as royalty." He blushed, but acted to mean well, as he did.

Kate was fully curious now. "Yes? How so?"

"This part will be offensive, is that alright?" He continued after Claudia nodded. "Every time you bite into a piece of food, you get an uncomfortable look on your face, and I know we don't have the best ingredients to make the best bread or anything. Overall, it's just the way that you act. If I hadn't seen you in a dress, I would think you were a man from the way you speak so openly. But, do excuse me again. I do like talking more openly like this. I just don't talk this openly to women," he said shyly.

Kate scoffed. "And so are the times," she sighed. "What else?"

"Well, about Monsieur Schlude. Even I can tell from his hands that he hasn't worked a day in his life. And how would he know both French and German without being an educated noble? Also-- I don't mean to be suggestive, but there's been a rumor going around that when he was gone last Thursday, he was spotted at Château de Sauvageot, but I've also heard that the lord of the manor looks like him, but that lord had disappeared over a year ago."

"Is that so?" Kate raised her eyebrows and leaned in, trying to catch everything. "So is that all the evidence you have toward us being Princes of Austria?"

Simon-Pierre smiled a little. "I believe the terms are Archdukes of Austria, but yes. That is all."

"It's the same." She rolled her eyes, but looked playfully at the young man. "Simon-Pierre, I'm going to advise you to stop wondering about us. As far as you need to be concerned... " she paused, "you don't need to be concerned."

He scowled. "Who is to say I would not understand?"

She scowled, but chuckled, "Trust me, if you could understand, you wouldn't want to understand. In either case, we will be leaving soon, and then you can forget all about it."

"Is that so? Where are you going?"

Now, she looked insulted. "Home," she said.

"Then why come to Paris at all?"

"Because... we..." she looked to the corner of her eye again, choosing words, "left because... Ferdinand's family situation is a bit stressed, but... sometime soon, his niece should be here to tell us that everything is fine and that we can go back home again." Kate looked confident about her little story.

Simon-Pierre didn't know what to believe. "You came to a country drowned in debt and on the brink of anarchy to avoid a family feud?"

"Yes," she nodded, but then shook her head. "I mean, no. We couldn't really choose-- I mean, no. Nevermind." She finally stood up, smoothed out her dress and stated very sternly, "I'm not even going to explain it. Is that all you have to talk to me about? Because if so, we are simply not going to talk at all."

Simon-Pierre stood up as well, looking down at himself. "I'm sorry. Madame, please excuse me. I really did not want to be rude. In the beginning, I did have something to ask of you. Something not related to your history."

"Yes?" she asked.

* * *

"A printing press?" gasped Kate. "How ancient!"

As flour and generally all other bakery ingredients do not fair very well in dark and damp places, the bakery cellar was only used for keeping wine until a few years ago when even that became too expensive. Now, it was a perfect place to hide a large secret.

Simon-Pierre nodded, watching curiously as Kate circled the machine, inspecting it carefully. "Yes," he said, "the man I bought it from said it was around fifteen years old. If you can not mention this to any of my family, that would be perfect. I wasn't saving my deniers for anything in particular, but now, more than ever, people sell the strangest of things just for a weeks worth of food. And-- what are you doing?"

"Primitive," she muttered, but looked up to him and said, "I'll need a few blocks of wood and a knife, but after I make all the parts, it should be fixed."

"How did you know it was broken?"

Kate blinked for a moment. "I just know. It's... a talent. I can understand how things work."

Simon-Pierre shrugged it off. "Yes, I did notice that you are unusually good at solving mechanical problems. And no, I will not ask you how you are so talented."

"Good boy," she smiled. "What do you need a printing press for?"

"I bought it for next to nothing, so I was going to see what I could sell it for."

She frowned, looking disappointed. "You're not going to fight the obscenely rich aristocracy by publishing provocative pamphlets to start a revolution?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Like the Americans? Of course not. Fighting their homeland and what they get is blood with debt up to their ears. And for their so-called 'freedom,' we get a crippled economy with people begging off the street while Marie-Antoinette can buy a necklace worth a thousand lifetime wages."

"That's what I am talking about!" Kate nodded eagerly. "I'll even help."

"No," said Simon-Pierre firmly. "Anything that I would want to say is already being said by people who are crazy enough to risk their lives by opposing the throne, not to mention the cost for ink and paper. No, I am just going to resell it."

"Here you are, faced with such an opportunity, and you're going just hoping to make an easy sou or two? Simon-Pierre, I am disappointed in you!"

Simon-Pierre laughed. "Fine. You can print your own newspaper, and then you can starve."

"Then maybe I will!" Kate hissed. After the boy looked uninterested in her, she turned on her heel and started upstairs. "I hate men! All of you! You're all just the same!" she shot out in random spurts until she was far enough away that she couldn't be heard.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not sure if it's clear, but Kate's ability is intuitive aptitude, which happens to be Sylar/Gabriel's ability. Mind, this is before this "hunger" thing came about. I just meant Kate to be really very mechanically smart, understanding the inner-workings, but in doing so be frustrated with how little she understands of social workings, as shown by a whole chapter devoted to her self-conflict of loving Adam. Except, you as a reader had to point that out yourself, and I shouldn't be explaining it to you. Ah, well.


	5. The Light

**Chapter Five: The Light**

In the five months that they had been living in the room, nothing had changed much, but it did seem just a little bit like home. It was less clean now, for sure, with various newspapers thrown all over the floor as though someone started to hurt themselves laughing once their read halfway through an article. The furniture had been arranged to make room for an added chair, and the sun's rays were cast upon the new bed sheets.

This is where Kate sat, engrossed in her writing in a simple brown journal. She used a quill pen and although she wrote very small all the way down the page, she still had to blow lightly on the words to make the ink dry before quickly flipping to the next page and begin her furious scratching once again.

The pocket mirror had moved itself from the dresser to be attached on to the wall. This is where Adam was, carefully shaving his chin. Through the mirror, he could watch Kate carefully, and he did so often, smiling when he did.

After some time, Kate finally noticed it. "Excuse me?" she said.

He merely smiled more grandly. "You've better make that book last. I'm not buying you another for at least a year."

"It's not my fault that this century give me more problems than I can fit in a journal," she stated sharply. Once Adam wiped his face off and approached the bed, she snapped the book closed and started to bottle your ink.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "And what sort of problems could you possibly have that are only entitled to you and a book?" he asked humorously.

Kate put on a sour face and stashed her book under her pillow for a moment. "As I am not entitled to all of your secrets, you should not be entitled to all of mine."

"I've told you what I owe you for putting you through this time period, and all of that alone could make one's head explode." Adam scowled, insulted.

She clearly didn't care. "Your secrets in relation to mine are still infinitely bigger than what mine could ever be. You do know that I don't have to tell you anything? I choose to talk about my life with you, but of course, I don't have to. It's not like you've made some kind of law--"

"What kind of things would you hide from me anyway? Is there anything in the entire universe that could possibly benefit from being hidden from me? Anything at all?"

Kate kept her mouth closed.

Adam leaned his back down on the bed, putting his hands over his eyes. "Only a year…" he murmured, "just a single year and already…"

"Joseph, I'm expecting," she said.

Adam kept his hands over his eyes. "Expecting what?" he asked flatly.

"A child," she replied.

"To do what?" he asked again.

Kate let out a sharp breath and gritted her teeth. "To be expelled from my vagina," she said.

Finally, although casually, Adam sat up and looked at her with a completely composed face. She, on the other hand, was curled up with her knees.

"The other day, Louise just kept staring at me all amused. When I finally asked her what was wrong, she asked how far I was. She calmly said my appetite and breasts gave it away, and I even thought it was the smallpox again when even a few injections of your blood weren't helping."

"Well, you seem thrilled," said Adam.

Kate swallowed. "Well, of course, I don't want it. I do believe the infant mortality rate is high enough with this sub-human healthcare. Overall, it's no place for any kind of child. But now? I'm twenty-three and in Revolutionary France for fuck's sake. God, I don't want it now."

She stopped and waited for Adam to reply, but he said nothing, and just looked at her.

"An abortion is out of the question. Far too risky with the current technology," Kate replied, and signaled that she was done speaking.

"So…" started Adam curiously, "we're going to keep it?"

She swallowed again. "That would be the most rational choice, provided that Elizabeth comes back for us in the next few months."

He nodded unsurely. They were both quite unsure about that. It was the only hope they held on to.

* * *

White sunlight beamed through the windows to create a striped pattern onto the sheets that wrapped around Kate's body. When at last she awoke, she was still partially sleeping as nothing but her eyes were working as of yet. She saw the white sunlight upon the white sheets and then she moved her eyes around her, seeing the room as silent and still as a painting, but could not think of anything. No words came to her mind, and no need for any kind of thought was triggered.

But, naturally, one thought did come. The word was light.

The sunlight was focused upon the sheets that covered her legs. Yes, she did feel light. She related this to her hunger. If there wasn't any food in her stomach, then she would be lighter, as in less heavy than if there was, correct?

Kate remembered only then. Light, she thought of as a swear, and quickly clenched her stomach. Only now, there was no immeasurable pain, no involuntary screams, and no endless flow of blood, soaking through every thread of that white sheet.

She dropped both hands to her abdomen to make sure it was true. It was. A rush of quickened breaths and heartbeats started through her, and out of freight, her brain started to function correctly. It was just that it was clouded with pain as the phrase echoed through it: "Please, no. Please, my Lord, of all the things I could ask for..."

As if on cue, Adam entered, immediately noticing Kate awake as though he had been waiting for just that. His expression switched on to a pathetic frown with worry lines that Kate had not seen from him more than perhaps twice before. He paced over to the foot of the bed, asking, "How are you? Hungry? Thirsty? Shall I get you some water?"

The last she had seen of him, he was kneeled over at the side of the bed, and he was tightly grasping her hand with a slick layer of blood squeezed between both their fingers. She was thinking, God, I don't want to die here, but didn't dare say a word as Adam was speaking through gasping sobs:

"Kate, p-please. Please, K-k-kate, stay. D-don't you dare... Don't you d-dare leave me. P-please, Kate. I love you. I love you s-so much. Keep fi-fighting, Kate. Kate, please. Don't you d-do this to me."

But still, Kate could glance between her legs at the doctor, who was just as shakily fiddling around with some of his instruments. She could remember thinking, Does he even know what's wrong? Has he ever delivered a baby four months premature?

Kate blinked at Adam. "I'm f-fine," she said, although her throat croaked once she used it. She hoped that he knew her next words even though she herself could not currently fit her questions and emotions into a complete phrase.

"Are you sure? You've been sleeping for two days. Philippe-Charlot just finished making clafoutis. I can bring some up if you'd like?" There was no visual evidence of him knowing those next words.

Although the youngest, Philippe-Charlot was granted the title of making the best clafoutis in the family, and that was certainly saying something. The first and last time Kate had eaten some was a few months ago, when a few relatives of Jean-Clair's wife were coming to visit. Because having tenants would make Jean-Clair seem poor and desperate, he suggested for Adam and Kate to see France's country for a few days. He practically begged them to leave, packing a basket of food for them to eat on their holiday, which happened to include the custard dessert.

"Joseph! Look at these blue ones, here! What a color!" Kate kneeled down to pick a few of the flowers, joining them with a bouquet of at least six other kinds. They had been walking for about two hours until they found the field that went on for miles. Most of it was grass up to Kate's waist, but she soon found patches of wildflowers that fascinated her to no end. How could nature produce something so beautiful all on its own without the use of artificial enhancers that produced flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes.

Adam wasn't looking at the flowers. Instead, he had stopped following her and was faced toward the horizon, gazing at the dark set of mountains under a bright pink sky brushed with violet clouds.

After some time, Kate stopped to look up and notice this as well. "It's beautiful," she breathed, and Adam nodded to that comment, as well.

"No," said Kate automatically and lied again, "I'm not hungry. I'm-I'm fine."

"Perhaps some water, then?"

Before she could speak again, Adam left and returned soon later with a cup of water. He handed it to her saying, "Look at your hair. It's a mess," and tucked a few strands behind her ears.

It reminded her of a time, again a few months ago, but it was around the time that she was starting to show.

"Julie-René, what are you doing with your hair?"

Kate took the five-year-old's hands from the top of her head, where she seemed to be tying her hair into complex knots. The girl took her hands from Kate's, and instead lifted them up, wanting to be picked up and carried into someone's lap. Kate followed the signals and went along with it, starting to untangle the mane before her.

"I was making my hair all pretty like yours, Auntie Claud."

The young woman raised her eyebrows. "Do you mean in a braid like I had it last week? Don't you want to look like your Mama and all the other women?"

Julie-René shook her head so hard it looked like it was going to twist off, making Kate laugh and hold the head still.

"Do you want me to braid it?" she asked and brought her fingers through the final lumps of the girl's hair.

The child nodded, and Kate couldn't help but to smile, preparing so that she could make a braid on either side of the head. She also couldn't stop thinking of how cute the girl was going to be when it was done.

Kate took the cup of water, but didn't drink from it. "Joseph," she said, her throat blocking up, "Joseph, please..."

He stood up straight, slightly twitching as he licked his lips. "Yes?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

It seemed to come out with some difficulty, but Adam very simply stated, "It was a boy."

Kate turned her head to look in her cup of water. She shook and she shuddered, but the tears were not ready yet. "Where is he?" she asked.

Adam took a smaller pause. "I buried it in the back," he said.

"Didn't think I could see him?" The tears started to well up, but she fought to keep them back.

"There was nothing to see," he replied. "He died in the womb. Not even our technology could have saved him."

Kate swallowed her emotions down, but they piled up to a mountain.

"I suppose that's what we wanted," she said.

She started to sob, and then bawl. Adam took the cup from her and then sat himself upon the bed. She pressed herself into his chest and he held her tightly in his arms. She cried and cried, and after Adam started to shed some tears, she cried some more.

"Yes," he replied in a barely audible whisper. "I suppose so."


	6. The Way

**Chapter Six: The Way**

While the sun dipped lower behind the horizon, Elizabeth's trousers became less and less comfortable. For a few minutes, she seriously considered pulling her socks and her trousers down, but then that would ruin the fact that she was all dressed like a 18th century boy, complete with a hat to hide all of her hair. In her own time, she looked far and wide for a decent dress of the period, but decided it was cheaper and easier just to modify some clothes she already had.

As she walked up a curve, she had the faint fear that something would happen in the night if she stayed out for too long. Of the many people she had asked, two pointed her to Vichy, one pointed her to a whorehouse, one pointed her to some bakery, and one pointed her to the sky. After learning that Vichy was a few hours' walk and that the whorehouse didn't know any Schuldes, she hoped that the man who had pointed to the sky was wrong.

Through the glow of the dusk, Elizabeth found her destination as shown by the small wooden sign labeling it Bussereau's. She ran to the meet the woman that was halfway through the doorway, flipping a sign to "Closed."

"No! Stop! Please!" she shouted in broken French.

The woman yawned at her. "We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

"No, please!" Elizabeth searched through her memory to find the right words. "Please, do you know a Ferdinand or a Claudia Schulde? It's very important."

The woman stopped, and she stared at the girl until it made her uncomfortable. When the light was right and her face was shown under the hat, she gasped with a slightly confused, "Elizabeth?"

"Are you... Miss Bailey?" Elizabeth asked with some uncertainty.

With a cheerless laugh, she replied in English, "Yes, I am." Kate seemed to shudder as opened the door wider. "Won't you come in? Are you hungry?"

Elizabeth stepped inside the bakery, and through the light she could only see a collection of dusty shelves where a little girl of about four years was taking the many breads off of the display. "No, thank you. I'll eat when we get back. I've been here about six hours already. We should leave as soon as possible."

"Right," Kate said quietly. "Of course. You know, I started to think- I mean, excuse me of course. I'm so glad you've come. It's better a bit late than never, right?"

"This is the first time I've time traveled anywhere, so I do think 1790 is quite close to 1785 in terms of the whole universe. If you want, I can try again and pick you up before the war. I'm sure you've gone through many difficulties in this century."

Kate didn't reply. She just swallowed, and paused, and said something in French to the little girl, who she called "Clarisse." Then, she reminded Elizabeth about her earlier comment of being in a hurry, and told her to follow her upstairs.

* * *

"I cannot tell you how good it feels to wear this," Adam sighed with pleasure, admiring himself in the window. He wore the clothes that Elizabeth had brought: a white silk shirt with dark jeans and sneakers. Kate was wearing something similar, although she kept commenting that it felt so awkward. Since Elizabeth wasn't expecting a third passenger, their daughter, Clarisse had to wear her little dress.

Despite Kate wanting to pack some things, she found that there was really nothing to pack. They were never going to wear the clothes again and the predicted that even using the money for its historical value would put it against Elizabeth if Adam could not clear her name. They had little else since they were of course in the middle of the French Revolution, and no one really had anything.

Meanwhile, Adam carried Clarisse all around both floors of the building, even stepping outside to say goodbye (and good riddance) to the dead tree in the front. He literally kissed the bakery goodbye, leaning a temporary mark on the window, and let Clarisse kiss right below it. She didn't know what was going on, but never had she seen her father so happy.

"What's this? What's going on?" Simon-Pierre looked very out of place in all of this, but he blinked and rubbed his eyes furiously to make himself believe what he saw.

Kate immediately gave him a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. At once, her eyes started to tear. "I know nothing I could say would make any sense to you, and I'm very sorry. We're going home. Will you give our thanks and farewell to everyone else? Tell Jean-Clair that he should keep his shop open; the war won't be long now. And Louise, tell her the secret of my crepes is just a little lemon juice. Not too much. And tell Madame Noelle that she has no business in telling you who to marry. And-- I'm sorry, so sorry. We have to go now-- Yes. Now. There's really no--"

She stopped short, running to a loose floorboard, which she lifted and dug through the interior. Nine books of varying colors and sizes were removed, and she handed these to Simon-Pierre. "These are my journals," Kate said, very seriously looking him in the startled eyes. "I'll trust you with them. They will explain everything. I'd just hate to leave you out in the dark. Okay?"

Simon-Pierre struggled to keep all of the books in his arms. "Okay," he nodded a little, still having no idea what was going on.

"Kate..." Adam started to struggle as Clarisse squirmed in his arms.

Kate gave the young man a final kiss on the cheek, and gave a final, "Goodbye, Simon-Pierre." She walked back to the impatient others.

Elizabeth held out her hand and after helping Clarisse take a finger, they all grabbed their own. The teenager took a deep breath with one last look at the century, and closed her eyes.

They were gone within the next second.

* * *

"God, you've got to be kidding me!"

The four were in an odd sort of place, or rather the lack of a place. All they could see was darkness, as if their eyes were closed, but they could feel some kind of vibrations moving past their legs and hear Elizabeth's complaint as if she was whispering in their ear.

Clarisse started to whine so much that Adam just had to ask, "What's going on?"

Elizabeth swore vulgar words, but replied as she held them tighter, "I'm being redirected."

The meaning of this was soon apparent in a momentary flash as their ears started to ring slightly and they stood in a place that wasn't exactly a room in a building, but wasn't outside, but wasn't exactly the sky either. It was bright, though, a noisy sort of gray with words appearing before them in addition to a voice that seemed to come from their own minds, "Please stand by."

Another moment later, they were on solid ground, in a solid room. The walls were the same noisy gray, and there were no windows, but it was pleasant nonetheless. There was a Ficus in the corner and four chairs upholstered in red velvet before a glass desk, where a woman sat in her own velvet chair with a keyboard and a computer monitor.

"License, please," the woman said without even a glance at the people who had just appeared in her office. Upon closer inspection, it could be found that her name was Lisa Shetler, Immigration Officer. Or, at least, that was what stated on her nametag.

While saying things like, "I'm sorry. I didn't know when it was all starting. Really, if I had known, I would have never left," Elizabeth leaned just above the desk, where a metal rod extended from the side to her face, and with a soft buzz, dragged a beam of light across her eye.

"Only implemented nine hours ago," yawned the officer. She tapped a few things into her keyboard, and finally glanced upon the girl's face, simultaneously reading, "Elizabeth Ferguson, Space Manipulation?"

Elizabeth nodded, and without a look up from her keyboard, the woman asked, "You two, as well."

"Miss... Officer, they aren't registered yet," she took to explaining once Adam and Kate looked dubiously at the eye scanner.

For the first time, the officer looked surprised at all of them. "Aren't registered in any system? Any at all?"

"I think I'm registered in the WWF." Adam couldn't help but to say with a sly smile.

Kate pinched him while the officer held a sour face. "Absolutely none at all," Elizabeth ignored him completely. "They're... er... what's the word?"

"... Gypsies," finished Kate. "The government hasn't been satisfactory until now," she said fluently.

"Right. What she said," added Elizabeth.

The woman looked back to her computer screen with a tired sigh. She tapped a few things into a computer, simultaneously saying, "You're very lucky, all of you, that the Union decided to reset the boarders. A billion more hours' work for me, but at least there is a chance for less of a war. Well, never mind."

She started to pull out a half sheet of paper, which she ran through her printer, which spat out a long speech of small words. At the end, there was a line, which she signed and punched with a stamp.

"Here you are. Hand it to the man at the door to take your name, then you can stay in the waiting room until some one can take you," the officer handed the paper to Kate with a half-hearted smile. "Mind you," she addressed Elizabeth, "that you can't go with them. I'll summon a teleporter to take them to the main immigration building. He should be here just a few moments."

"Oh." Elizabeth didn't know much to say. She found that she really couldn't argue with anything.

Turning around she gave Adam and Kate a helpless look, while they themselves gave her one that made it clear they had no idea what was going on.

"I'm sure someone you see will explain it all. I'm really sorry about this. I... didn't know exactly when the borders would reset; I thought we would've had more time. In any case," she took a breath, "you know where to find me once they let you out, yeah? We still live in Queen's Park, but you know, just ask around. Is there anything else I can do for you right now? Again, I'm really sorry."

Kate didn't know what to ask. "No, we'll be fine."

"It really shouldn't be too long. Just a whole load of paperwork to fill out, then an interview. Shouldn't take more than an hour, I'd expect," Adam raised an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised," the officer said. "Ah-- Alright, Billy?" she smiled brightly at the thick and stout man that had appeared out of nowhere. "Got another load of unregistered for you-- these two and the little one."

The teleporter grunted with a nod, offering an arm to them.

"I guess I'll see you, then," shrugged Elizabeth.

Adam nodded. "Right."

Kate smiled a farewell. "Yes, see you."

And without anything else, they were gone.


	7. The Waiting Game

**Chapter Seven: The Waiting Game**

With the slightest rustle of a shrub, Elizabeth stepped just to her left to watch her house by far and to note into which room she should appear in that would make her parents the least angry.

"So, it's about time."

Ian was on the ground, laying in a very carefully calculated spot of grass where you could see the half moon through the trees and a moss-covered rock could provide some lower back support. He pulled out his bright yellow ear buds and continued with, "It's been four days, and with every hour, it gets harder to explain why your friends are having some kind of adventure in Helsinki without any outside communication."

"Well, then just- what's that in your mouth!" Elizabeth stepped on the pipe that Ian held in his hand. "What is that? Italian Lightning? Huruclean? How did you get that kind of money?"

Ian breathed a stream out, but didn't mind once Elizabeth grabbed the pipe and emptied its contents. "Gerrycup. It's a flower that I found in the corner of the park. Dunno if it's hallucinogenic, but it's pretty smooth once you tweak it a bit. So you a time traveler, yet?"

"Ian, these things take time. Once Mr. Allen gets settled, he'll have to thank me somehow and-"

"And what if he doesn't? What if he continues to be the obnoxious bastard he has been for the past four centuries?" He started the drum on his stomach and look longingly at the moon.

She sat down beside him, but didn't lay herself onto the ground. "I know he's an obnoxious bastard, but he's a powerful obnoxious bastard that will give thanks to where it is due. He does have principles. Not many, but some. He will get back to me. How could future me go back to past me if he didn't?"

Ian replied with a smooth, "And what if they get to him first? What if Mum and Dad find out he's alive and their little neighborhood watch group strikes him dead again?"

"They won't. The government'll protect him from everything, a million times more than they did before."

"Don't be daft. How was it that I could see you, then? I just thought of you, and I saw you there, in that little office with him and her and a little girl with bright blonde hair. Now just think, someone with even basic clairvoyance tries to look for him before he gets his protection. Then, that rumor spreads around. An hour later, London grabs their torches and pitchforks, and bam!" He popped his lips. "Dead."

Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. "It won't happen."

"Foolish Beth. Always so foolish. He's got more opposition now. Much more. People are smarter. People are coming to realize that perhaps Year Zero wasn't a terrible accident. They just don't do anything about it because there's nothing to do. But, then, if that one man responsible for it was still alive, someone would have to do something, aye? He's risking his life just being on this plane of existence."

She blinked and said lightly, "Well, fine. Which ever."

"That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"Ian, I've come to the fact that if it happens, if he gets killed, then fine. At least I tried. I really don't care if Dad massacres me, or if I get sentenced for time traveling, or if nothing happens at all because no one knows anything about it. But, for what it's worth, I went to 1790 and got lost in Revolutionary Paris. I used my ability to its full potential, and for once, I was rid of this world. You can call me foolish, but I'm fine with that. I'm okay with being foolish."

For once, Ian stopped talking. He stared at the moon. Time passed.

"Beth?"

"Yeah?"

He directed his eyes at her. "Saying that hasn't made you any more wiser," he said.

"Thank you, Ian," she said.

* * *

If there was one thing that Adam quite enjoyed, but seldom got to do, it was choosing a new name. This time, before the white collared man with a large clipboard, he did so. He smiled, and once asked he did it smoothly, seamlessly, flawlessly:

"Anthony Watson."

With that he nudged Kate in the arm to make sure she was following.

She was less enthusiastic. "And Katherine Watson and this here is Clarisse Watson."

The man took down their names and asked them to move through the doors. At the current time, they were in a well-lit entrance hall that looked more like a slab of a corridor with heavy duty carpeting. But, once they waited near ten minutes in a queue to give the man their new names and the slip of paper, they entered the next room, and unpleasantly saw that their wait had meant nothing at all.

The room, more accurately described as a recycled warehouse, wasn't that large, although someone somehow fit three rows of bunk beds down that made for two aisles of concrete flooring. Between these aisles, there were people, so many that it made them wonder how the noise could be kept out of the first room. The people who made the most noise seemed to be the ones having a heated conversation in a multitude of languages. The second most noisy were the children, who screamed and ran through the maze of people and personal belongings that had no other place to go but the ground. Then, there were the crowd in the middle of these ages, having more conversation over a radio and a bag of crisps. Finally, there seemed to be a great amount of people that laid or leaned upon the beds, reading a book, listening to their ear buds, or just trying to relax.

This is what Kate saw. She was not expecting this, but she had to admit herself foolish for thinking it was going to be the same as when she left. She kissed her daughter's head, for there was a recent transfer of arms, and asked Adam if he saw a free spot.

What Adam saw was despair. He saw people with weak smiles and baggy eyes from stress and uncertainty. He saw people that hadn't taken showers in days, but they still scratched themselves in sweaters and assured each other that it was worth the wait. He saw people talking in small circles about their past, their insufferable city or ignorant community. Then, there were others making bets on how far and long the war would go.

"Ah, there's one. Do you see it? Just past-- Joseph, come on, before someone steals it," Kate murmured, taking Adam's limp hand, and bringing his rigid body to move. He followed her, though no petty joke nor sarcastic remark escaped his lips.

The spot had a bottom half of a bunk bed since the top was taken by a young woman who said that she couldn't stand staying with her in-laws, so she found her own bed, but they were very welcome to share. Each bed seemed to come with a set of a pillow, a disposable pillow case, a sheet, and one thinly made gray blanket. The girl from the top bunk offered some of her cookies, and Kate found herself very hungry. In a matter of minutes, she made friends with the families around her, sharing a dinner of marshmallows, tomatoes, almonds, and pretzels with her daughter.

"How long is the wait?" she asked one rounded man with a thick mustache.

He shrugged, replying in a heavy Spanish accent, "From what I hear, two or three days, but there have been some to only wait a few hours."

Upon hearing this, Adam's fingers twitched. He was sitting on the bed with his back against the support, knees propped up and head cradled in the crossed arms between them. He had not eaten anything, claiming that he was suffering from a headache and wasn't hungry. Kate felt for him, but could do nothing as long as they were in such an insecure area. Anyone could be listening. For this reason, it was even harder to speak with Clarisse.

"Mommy, where is this place?" she had asked.

Kate had to reply with, "Do you remember London, that place Mommy and Daddy always told stories about?"

"But, Julie-Rene said there wasn't any place like that. She said there was a place called London in England, but she said it was nothing like you and Daddy said it was. She said it was just like Paris, but with a lot more crazy people."

It almost made her smile, and the few around that understood the French just had to grin with all the cute innocence. "Yes, that's the one. London, England. All those stories were true and it is a real place. Once we get out of here, I'll show you everything. There's the Thames, the Eye, Westminister Palace. It's beautiful. You'll like it a lot more than Paris, I promise you. We just have to stay here for a few days, first."

"I'm going for a smoke," said Adam, getting up and immediately walking down the aisle, even though he didn't have anything to smoke in his pocket.

* * *

A/N: Ah, the show is getting good again, but despite Angela's dreams, still no Adam! Ah, alas. I'm currently writing the homestretch of this fanfiction, and I look back on all these chapters and see how insane I am for writing them. I go through cycles typically, and my muse for these things is like a sugar rush, but now I'm kind of in a sugar crash and want to get this done. It's getting harder, but it's still fun. It's really been fun.


	8. The Australian

**Chapter Eight: The Australian**

In this early hour of three, Devin Anderson sat up in the top portion of his bunk bed. He hadn't slept since he had arrived in the London Immigration Centre, and that was three days ago. Nevermind, though. He wasn't so much tired as he was just less attentive. The lack of sleep only gave him less control over his ability and he weaved in and out through the current conversations within the queue room.

He estimated there to be at least seven conversations in all, and although the people tried to be hush, considering it was the dead of the night, Devin hear every word, every syllable, and every scratch of a voice There were a few Danish telling old jokes that weren't funny anymore. There were a teenage girl and two boys judging a rock album, which according to them, was the shit. Devin didn't think so. There was someone else on the other side of the room tapping out a rhythm on his stomach. And when he wasn't hearing them, he was hearing someone else, or hearing no one at all, who sniffed and rubbed their nose or rustle of a fleece while they slept.

It was a very silent night.

After a few moments, he let out a breath, holding his head with chilled hands. He climbed down from the top, taking notice that his cousin was sound asleep, hugging his pillow instead of his girlfriend. He smiled, and sifted through his bag to pull out a plastic bag of snacks. Then, he stopped.

There was a _tong_, and a sound of the swallow that Devin hadn't noticed before. He didn't attempt to look up and find the source. He was blind as a bat in the dark. Instead, he heard up and tried to close out those Danish that seemed to be louder than everyone else.

There was no _tong_ this time, but there was a broken breath. It was a laugh, a chuckle, followed by calm, even breathing. He hadn't paid much attention to the ceiling before, when they had the lights on, but he knew well enough of the beams for extra support that spanned across the building. They were steel, as he heard now, and were ten feet above any top bunks. How did he get up there?

Devin answered his own question, climbing up to his top bunk and feeling around the walls. There was a ledge, yes. With a little balance and will power, he reached it with his fingertips and pushed himself up.

Once he sat on the beam, he could see an outline of the man. He was light-haired and about middle-aged, but with a white shirt and jeans. He sat like an adolescent, legs swinging above the people below. He also looked at Devin, but said nothing. Devin squinted, but couldn't see any facial features. He seemed familiar, somehow...

"Hey," said Devin in a quiet voice, scooting himself carefully down to the middle of the beam. "Y-you alright?"

He heard the lazy laugh again. The man stopped looking at him. He swung his legs and looked at all the people sleeping.

It wasn't at all a deep voice, but again, the way he said it just seemed familiar. "In fact, no... No, I'm not alright."

Devin didn't know quite what to say. He moved closer, and could at least see his face now. Some of the people had nightlights set up, and they reflected on his eyes, but his eyes were low and tired. His breath was slower and slower and his face sighed.

After a moment, probably as a result from lack of sleep and concern, Devin asked, "I-is there anything I could do for you?"

There was a slight silent pause before the man started to scratch his neck. "Of course," is what he said. He still looked out at the people.

Devin was left speechless for another few moments. Perhaps, that was the wrong question to ask. Cautiously, he opened up his snack bag and held it open to the stranger.

"Gummy bear?" he offered.

The man shot him a sudden look and laughed. It wasn't a pathetic laugh like he had before, but instead a good, full laugh. A laugh that comes after something that is funny. A few people tossed suddenly in their sleep and the sound drove through Devin's ears, but he merely smiled weakly, not sure what was so amusing.

"Yes, I will have one. Thank you," the man smiled grandly, still giggling, a completely different creature than what he was before. He took a gummy bear from the bag and placed it in his mouth, giving the appearance of absolute pleasure. Then, he chewed and licked his lips once he was done. After, he asked for another.

Devin held out the bag again and started to eat some of his own. He wasn't sure if the man was really hungry or just really liked gummy bears, but he went through one after another like an addiction. Devin didn't mind though. He was happy to make another so happy.

"For a few months, I practically ate nothing but gummy bears," he was saying almost randomly, "Those were some decent months. Though, lately, I... haven't been able to. It is one of the few things that I've missed dearly."

Devin nodded, pretending he knew what was going on. The identity of the man was on the tip of his tongue. "Take as much as you'd like. The name's Devin by the way."

He studied Devin curiously. "Devin? Well Devin, it's very nice to meet you." He took and shook his hand. "What's that accent? Melbourne?"

"Australia, Sir. I'm Australian."

The stranger rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here then? What's in London that's worth being pack like hogs?"

"Um, policies in general," for the first time, Devin took his eyes to look out and notice how high he was. "The Death Right, Pattinson Act, things like that that work for me and my cousin. We're both Level Ones, and we'd be scared for our lives, otherwise."

The man looked sympathetic. He looked out below the beam as well. "It's curious," he said, giving off the same air as he had in the beginning. "I've been here before. I've seen these people, poor, broken, and filthy with nothing but a heart full of hope. A very long time ago, it was the same exact scene when sucked up their pride and arrived in America. And even before that, centuries before, countless times.

"I had known that history repeats itself, and I know now that nothing stops that cycle. Even when all but a speck of all humans were wiped out, it did nothing but slow the cycle down. And so here we are, yet again."

They were both silent as Devin recounted this. It obviously meant more to the stranger than it did to him.

"I think... it just makes me tired," the man admitted with some difficulty. His breath slowed significantly, but Devin could hear his heart pumping on at a panicked pace.

That's when it hit him. Devin's eyes lit up.

"Right! There it is! Sir, you really remind me of someone. A character from a book I've just read. Yeah! Just like him."

He couldn't tell if the man was surprised, confused, or amused. "Yes?" he asked.

* * *

To Devin, she looked absolutely and completely normal, which is to say that she didn't look at all like this stranger's wife. Except, now the stranger had named himself as Anthony Watson, a man that apparently had never heard of the book and had never had his description nor personality compared to it. Devin was reluctant to believe that.

Adam knelt down next to the bed, unconcerned about how well Kate and Clarisse were sleeping. He placed his hand on the Kate's one shoulder that was not curled up under the blanket. At first, he barely made every movement at all, but the impatience was overwhelming, and he had to shake her under she turned away.

"Kate, get up! Listen! Kate!" his voice was rough, impatient, and very inconsiderate to the slumbering families all around, who looked up for a moment of disgust before trying to sleep again. His face only turned sour once Kate withdrew under the covers.

Devin really didn't know why he was there, and why this Anthony had to tell his Kate at this very moment. It must have been three thirty, if not just a bit later.

"Let me see it," he turned, suddenly to Devin, taking the book from his hands. It was a pretty old book, pre-Zero era, as most books of paper were. Its cover was hard, faded and brown with a decent size of about five hundred pages even with tiny inked print inside. It smelled like an old book too, and Devin would probably not have come across it if his public library wasn't giving it and similar others away like firewood.

The man scowled, skipping through a few chapters before resting on a page. He took a deep, defying breath, and he read,

"_September 25, 1787. Winter is coming, and I know it must sound awfully cliche of me, but I just can't wait for the snow. I'm sure it will be beautiful in the city, but perhaps I can persuade the family to take a day off to visit the country again, but that's highly unlikely. I am greatly looking forward to Clarisse's first winter. She is a bit young and doesn't have a proper coat, but I hope at least once, I can take her out in the snow. Louise has told me that--_"

Kate lurched herself out of the bed, eyes suddenly wide awake. She snatched at the book like an animal. "I told you, Joseph! I told you never to-"

"It's not yours, Kate," Adam snapped the book shut on her fingers, but she didn't seem to feel any pain. His voice became soft and intense, like a hiss, as he said, "It's a book. A real, honest to God, _published_ book..."

He turned away from her, flipping through the very first pages while Kate tumbled out of the bed and grabbed for it again. Almost effortlessly, he avoided her and pushed her out of his way. "It's title is Madame Schulde. Look, it's even copyrighted 1974, by Michel Fontaine," he said, full of contempt. "What do you have to say about that, Miss Bailey?"

The woman stopped. She sat herself on the bed, moving Clarisse (who was dead asleep) off to the side. Her eyes never once took a look of shame, and they were of fire as they glared at the man. He also glared back.

"And what right do you have for calling me imprudent? What is this?" Adam now held the book up in a defying moment. "Never, Kate. Never have I told anyone as much as I told you. And this book here, full of the both of us, published in goddamn 1974? Do you-"

She shot up. "How dangerous it could be? Joseph, believe me, there's nothing. There's nothing about you to even suggest anything of you. But I wish I had written something of that. I wish I'd told the world your life story because by the way you're treating me now, you'd deserve it."

Kate stepped up closer to him, giving him a whole load with her eyes and hot breath. Adam showed no fear, but he did bite his lip, and looked like he was about to do something monstrous. However, Devin heard their heart rate come to a more controlled level.

"I'm sure it's not a popular book anyway," she said simply, mockingly.

Devin spoke up. "No, it's not. No one I asked ever heard of it, not even the librarian. The back says it was the first book of Fontaine, a historian/antique seller, and I'm sure no one's heard of him. It shouldn't be that popular anyway. To be honest... it was very confusing. But the characters! Loved the characters!" he tried to smile.

"Glad to hear it," smiled Kate.

"Well," shrugged Devin, "it would be really very awesome if you came from the book. I think there's an ability that can do that..."

"Joseph, are you angry?" her smile faded and she looked deeply at Adam, who never changed his expression in the first place.

He swallowed, and to Devin, it was deafening. "I'm livid," he said with a terrifying rumble in his voice.

"But you need to relax, Joseph. There's nothing in there that would get us in any sort of trouble, and even it there was, it's just a book, Joseph. A fiction book, and everyone will read it as such." This time, as she stared him down, his face softened.

But, he didn't even look at the boy as he spoke to him. "Devin, could I borrow this?"

Devin nodded, adding, "You can have it if you want."

"No, I'll just borrow it." At this, his head rotated to face him, and it was an eerily kind face. "With this queue, there's quite a lot of time to read. If you'd please, keep this night a secret to yourself. And take care, won't you?"

There wasn't much more for Devin to do but smile politely, promise to keep the secret, and leave. With it, Kate questioned Adam of something of importance, but he replied that the boy could be trusted, but if need be, the government would erase his memory once they all got back together. After that, she apologized, and some time after that, he forgave her.

* * *

**A/N:** Heroes tonight! Woo! And some better news that last night, I actually finished writing this story. As in, really finished. Last sentence and everything. It's... uplifting? Reviving? Kind of weird.

For yous, it means sooner updates. Yay! :)


	9. The White House

**Chapter Nine: The White House**

The cab had placed them in front of a grand, bright white doorstep of a completely white Regency-styled estate. It was quite a large one as well, even considering the times, with three floors with many elaborately designed white windows. Kate was reassured once she noted that the lawn was well-kept, as well as the rose bushes that lined it. Before Adam even had the chance to grab the knocker, the heavy doors opened.

They were opened by a sort of tall old man, with a perfectly white mustache and a a pair of black framed glasses. He was in a red robe and pajamas, but he still looked as professional as ever. He blinked twice, and then grinned.

"Joseph, it's been far too long, but I have been expecting you," he said with a wry smile. "Come in, please, come in. Ely! Make some tea and bring out the lemon cake to the lounge! We have much to talk about, Joseph."

Adam was really smiling. "Always the same, Walter. You haven't changed much. And I assume you remember Kate Bailey?"

Walter immediately took her hand to kiss it. "As dashing as ever, Miss Bailey." But, he raised his eyes at the child in her arms. "Another one? Well, you two have been quite busy." At this, the two's smiles turned to grimaces. "Like I've said, there is much to talk about. Fifteen years and not even a single call? You're in deep trouble, Mr. Allen."

The lounge was a bit more comfortable to say the least. There were two leather sofas and a love seat around a glass table with fresh-picked flowers. The rest of the room held a white grand piano and paintings that lined the wall. Auctions, Mr. Ferguson had explained.

Re-telling of five years spent in Revolutionary France proved to start off difficult for Adam and Kate, but they found themselves done with the story in about fifteen minutes. Walter listened closely to all of this, face in deep thought, and head nodding with every detail of the hell, as they called it.

"It would be possible to complete Elizabeth's request, wouldn't it?" asked Kate. "There is such a thing as a time permit, yes?"

Walter coughed, looking quite uncomfortable. "No one should be permitted to mess with time, and that has been the world's view on it for centuries. If she wishes to join the World Temporal Corps, she may do so through the typical means, although I will gladly write her a recommendation letter. She should at least be happy that she isn't being sentenced to death for her crimes."

Kate nodded unsurely, while Adam seemed to have no problem with this. Clarisse sat next to her mother and had her neck craned to see every feature of the room.

"Is Monsieur very rich?" she asked.

Kate placed Clarisse in her lap. "Yes," she whispered to her, "very rich, but he doesn't like to show it."

"Dad, we've nearly run out of bergamots," said Ely, a young man with well-kept brown hair in his thirties, while he placed the tea tray down on the glass table.

While Adam took one of the teacups, he purred, "Are you still living with your father, Elijah? You're a man very well-suited for any woman."

"That, Mr. Allen," Ely looked slightly insulted, "would be a question for Elijah. He's working in the basement now, and should be back in time for dinner. Which, speaking of..."

With these words, another man nearly identical to Ely came into the room. This one wore an pastel orange silk shirt and didn't have his hair so neatly combed down. "About that... I may need another hand for the dessert. Ah hello, Mr. Allen! My dad said he knew you'd be coming. Nice trip?"

"Elias!" Ely was calling from the doorway. "Eliot needs you in the kitchen! Ah, excuse me, Mr. Allen, Miss Bailey, Little Miss Bailey."

"Mr. Ferguson," Kate asked from her tea. "I'm not sure I've met all of your children."

Walter chewed through his bite of lemon cake. "Yes, you've had. The eldest is Glen, who is in Prague with his own family. Then Laurel, in Milan still trying to start a fashion catalogue. Then Celeste, in Edinburgh working at the University. Then there's Elijah, who lives with me. He is a duplicator, don't you remember?"

While Kate became embarrassed from the lack of understanding, Adam made a question. "What would Elijah be doing in the basement? And what would you, Mr. Prime Minister, be doing in your pajamas? I've missed fifteen goddamn years, and there seems to be more time passed than last time."

Walter sipped his tea calmly. "I resigned about a year ago," he said. "I was getting too old and tired to keep up with this radical world. Elijah took over as Prime Minister until they overthrew him last Tuesday."

"Overthrew him?" At once, Adam's face displayed some form of terror.

"Why, yes. The pressure popped. Radicals have been spreading and deciding that they didn't like your way of organizing Europe. So, new leaders, new borders, the forming of actual countries again. But gone is the mixed population where you'd have a multitude of abilities working together. Now, people want laws and rights that allow them to use their abilities to the fullest, rather than be suppressed in a field of near equality. Everything is being turned on its head and redone."

Kate asked, "So that's why they've opened all borders for free immigration? So people can settle to their hearts content and won't protest and cause damage to their current governments?"

"Basically," shrugged Walter. "But there's still going to be war over who controls which land and what freedoms certain ability types have when in a certain country."

"Insolents," teethed Adam. "They'll never appreciate what they had."

"Because they think they know what they want, and they think they want change," Ely was now sitting with them, sipping his own cup of tea. "They keep saying the old government was a bit... ah..."

"Fascist," Kate completed his thought.

Once Adam looked at her with an eyebrow raised, she continued, "Well, it was, to tell you the truth. If people didn't want to be employed through the government, making use of their own power, they were screwed, making minimum wage no matter what they did. There isn't much freedom with being forced into a career."

Adam tried to ignore her. "And what's this new government like?"

"London's is staying relatively the same considering the rest of Europe," said Walter. "They're still supporting mixed communities, but when you've got things like 90% of knowledge-based abilities moving to Scandinavia, it's not quite the same. The new prime minister, Jocelyn Kimball, is sympathetic to the past, but politics force her to move with the flow. She's a very supple girl for a Petrelli."

Now, Adam was laughing, and Walter and Ely joined him. There were two laughs coming from kitchen as well and a few hearty ones from upstairs.

Kate swallowed her tea. "I don't see what's so funny. The Petrelli Line is your line, isn't it, Joseph?"

The laughed immediately ceased. Adam didn't know when they had started to play Battleship.

"I never knew that, Mr. Allen. How so?" Ely asked.

Adam licked his lips with burning eyes toward Kate. "Angela Petrelli, one of the twelve founders of the Company." He stopped to take some tea while the two from the kitchen could be seen leaning towards the lounge. "She was the seventh generation from my first son, born in Milan, 1750."

The lounge was eerily silent.

"How is this Kimball? Simon's daughter or Monty's?" asked Adam without skipping a beat.

Walter replied, "Peter's daughter, it seems. He still hasn't been tracked down for ages, but there's no faking DNA."

"Oh, I thought he was a homosexual?" sighed Adam. "Nevermind, he must be nearing a hundred by now, bored of the same old story. Walter, we do have a project running to catch him, don't we? This change of priorities is signaling the start of another operation, and I must say this war gives perfect grounds to carry it out."

Walter replied very solemnly, "Joseph, at this point in time, the entire world is at a standstill. We can't do much of anything, much less create a project to pursue a man who has been untraceable for half a century. All we can do is wait and see for what the future holds. It is completely out of our hands."

* * *

**A/N:** First, for those who care, Walter's ability is acute ESP.

Second, for a long time, I imagined Arthur to be Adam's long lost descendants, but Angela's way more kick ass. It makes sense though, right? Adam having children in Italy... and Petrelli being an Italian name.

I'll try to update more often.


	10. Ian

**Chapter Ten: Ian**

There was a kitchen. There was a sink and a chrome refrigerator and a little island table with wooden country chairs where two men and an older woman sat at, eating baked ziti. Without a moment to lose, the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling flashed just a bit brighter, let out a little shower of sparks, then faded completely to absolute darkness, as the lights from the other rooms and the street outside had gone out as well.

The two men and the woman didn't seem surprised at this, and they all snapped their fingers, lighting the room with three small flames until the one man could find the candles.

Ian woke, although it wasn't so much waking as regaining a small part of his consciousness. He only squinted his eyes and tilted his head to look at the numbers from the alarm clock.

He thought, just barely, _Good, the electricity's still on._

After he let his eyes close again, there was a row of a few dozen people on top of a building, over what looked to be a city. They smiled, and looked anxiously at each other, and at the exact same time, they brought their hands up, then slapped them together in a clap.

At the same time, the pillar of lightning over the city flashed before Ian's eyes and the colossal and deafening thunder roared through his head.

Ian grabbed his ears and desperately kept his eyes open. His breath and heart were competing at a thousand miles an hour. He tried to breath and loosen his hands from his head, but they continued to tremble.

_So it's started_, he thought.

Indeed, it was 3:42 in the morning, although he knew that in Seattle- no, "The Kinetic State of Seattle," it was 7:42 at night, and through the New York Convention, any type of warfare would not be encouraged, but accepted just twelve minutes ago.

The thunder boomed again, making Ian nearly fall off his bed and shake uncontrollably. He got himself up, took several deep breaths, and stumbled toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Again, he made the mistake of blinking at the wrong time.

Instead of seeing his ceiling and dresser coated with dirty clothes, he saw palm trees higher than buildings, crystallized like the frozen ground beneath them. Above the woman and boy who had their hands spread across the ice, there was a dark tower, like a building or a cinderblock at least twenty stories high leaning ominously towards them. And next to the tower, there was a taller figure with his fingers set like he was pushing an invisible object, with a wicked smile on his face.

He opened his eyes just before the crash, but still, he heard it, and the collection of heart-breaking shrieks that accompanied it. He leaned against the frame of his door for a second, not capable of stopping himself from remembering what region that one was of: Manila.

Ian drove on, instead going down the opposite direction of the hall, forcefully slowing his breath down. His legs didn't cooperate, but he kept a hand on each wall to keep himself from falling over. Every so often, he cringed, but still held his eyes open until they watered. Each blink gave another scene, another part of the world where people were fighting.

In Cuba, there were walls of water threatening over every household, although they seemed to be the kindest and gave the families a chance to flee before their homes were destroyed. In Brasilia, there were lines of men and women that walked in step through the streets and seemed to multiply ever so often, with the same proud looks on their faces and the blue badges of the Brazilian Commonwealth of Self-Replicates on their shoulders.

The back door opened to a serene landscape, where there was a cool, welcomed breeze on Ian's damp face. There were the sounds of the night, with little insects and the wind brushing the trees around. There were there streetlights too, from behind him, but they did little in the dead and peaceful time of the night.

He took a deep breath, this time closing his eyes forcefully to see his parents and Elizabeth silent and asleep in their bedrooms, as they should be. It wasn't affecting them, was it? London wasn't in a conflict between any governments, an advantage of being an island with a terrible climate. The biggest war they were to encounter was probably with the neighbors over who owned the fountain in the middle of Queen's Park.

The visions of their bedrooms were melted away with a cluster of Russians holding their heads and screaming while few others watched atop a hill.

Ian went more quickly to a great and old oak tree that had various carvings of misspelled words and tic-tac-toe boards. From inside the knot, he withdrew a pipe and a lighter. He didn't care what he was smoking; as long as he could stop himself to calm down.

* * *

"Who's there?"

Michael rubbed his eyes, stepping through the hall into the sitting room. It was far too early for either of his children to be awake. Elizabeth usually woke at seven on school days and Ian... around five minutes prior to the first bell. To be quarter past six and to be hearing the voice of Gene Wilder coming from the sitting room was on the verge of a dream.

What he saw was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory displayed on the far wall. What he didn't expect was Ian sitting on the sofa with his knees propped up to his chest, a bottle of eye drops in one hand, while the other was having its nails bitten off. Ever so often, he gave a giggle or hearty laugh even when nothing of comical value was coming from a movie.

"It's great, Dad," he said with a fixed gaze on the screen. "Bombs? Nuclear warfare? Nonexistent. But psychological warfare is the key. Make a whole town of Indians relive their worst memories and they'll give up all the land you want. And this-" He motioned to the screen with the bottle of eye drops before giving each eye a drop each. "This Veruca Salt. What a bitch. Damn, I love this movie."

Michael was speechless. He started to shudder himself, seeing Ian shake so uncontrollably.

"How... long have you been awake?" was the first thing he thought to ask.

Ian licked his lips. "I think about seven hours. Since quarter to four. What time is it? About noon?"

"It's nearly six in the morning," Michael glanced at the clock, confirming his statement, and then glanced at the window, which was still dark. "Ian, have you taken your medication?"

"Yeah. Smoked all of it."

"I meant your pills. Your prescribed medication. Ian, you need to relax. Control yourself and your ability." Michael neared the sofa, leaning in to look at Ian's bloodshot eyes, unblinking.

Ian flinched as his father got a closer and closer look at him, blinking again for a split second. He only opened his eyes wider, and put another drop in each. "I've called Dr. Yamrus. He said he'd be around later today with a refill. It seems all chemists in London have been robbed. Isn't that curious?" he laughed.

Michael stood back up straight. "Well, then. You should stay home from school and wait for him." He couldn't really think of anything else to say, except, "Will you be fine on your own?"

This time, on the screen, Charlie's grandfather was swimming through bubbles in the air, and Ian gave a full laugh as was intended at this moment. He followed it with a drop in each eye.

As his father left, Ian followed with, "Yeah. Yeah, Dad. I should be fine." The smile seemed to be plastered on his face.

* * *

Ian whistled and smiled as the birds whistled with him. The clock read four in the afternoon, but as far as he was concerned, it had been a week, not twelve hours into the war. He blinked freely, and he still saw massive earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, forest fires, plagues of complete darkness, armies slapping high fives, little children over their dead parents, and many other similar events that had occurred in the last twelve hours. Frankly, at this point, he didn't give a damn.

Instead, he whistled. He walked up to the great oak, reading all the little writings that he and his childhood friends had made. He spread his arms around it as far as they could, giving the tree a big hug and kiss. He took some rope from under his arm and threw it over the lowest branch three times. He jumped and tugged on the rope to make sure it would hold well.

Ian took off his shoes. He climbed the tree, pulling himself up to the lowest branch. He pulled up the rope, placed the loop of the rope around his head, and jumped from the edge.

The branch bounded and leaned with the extra weight. Ian remembered that hanging was not the most effective method of suicide, but the wind made his eyes dry faster and the extra blinking reminded him that a long death was better than no death at all. Plus, the tree. The tree was a happy tree. It smiled at him and he tried to smile back at it.

People screamed and people clashed in combat. Fire dominated the mountain. Pounding hearts and breaths. Sweat. Tears. So much crying, so many tears. Smiles. Victory. Cheers. Death.

For a moment, through blurred vision, Ian saw someone running down a bright and sunny hill. Lots of hair. Long hair.

"Ian! Ian!"

He closed his eyes.

He coughed.

This was followed with the remembrance that coughing required the use of air through the mouth. He coughed again.

He was on the ground, with the grass tickling his head. Elizabeth's hair was in his face as she hugged him, and she was crying. It made him cry too, and as he wiped his eyes, he only saw the backs of his eyelids.

Ian smiled and cried more, crawling away from his sister to his grandmother. She cried as well, and cried harder once Ian gave her the tightest hug.

"Is it you, G-grandmama?" asked Ian in a feeble voice. His head was cool and clear, feeling only pure happiness.

Mei nodded, grasping her grandson. Her tears continued to run down her face, and she smiled, for once believing that there was someone greater than Elizabeth that allowed her to get there in time.

"Th-thank you," Ian gasped, sobbing.

The figure cracked the smallest of smirks and disappeared from the shadows of the trees.


	11. The Bull

**Chapter Eleven: The Bull**

"Mrs. Prime Minister, there is a Joseph Allen here to see you."

"Yes, well! Can you please tell-- what?" Jocelyn's annoyed and sarcastic voice turned something to the complete opposite. It was right well that she should be annoyed in that the world had been at war for two weeks and apart from the occasional victory from the obvious dominant forces, no one had gotten anywhere.

She was in quite a state. Following her advisor's advice, she disbanded all but her essential servicemen, and that resulted in frizzed black and thick hair, wrinkled clothes, a stomach full of grilled cheese, and coffee that never did taste the same. Her desk was a mess, flooded with a billion and two papers that she hadn't even started on. Two news feeds on the war were playing on screens that rose from the desk and one played in her earpiece. Being Prime Minister, it seemed, was actually very difficult.

"Joseph Allen," the guard peeked again through the door in a completely serious voice. "_The_ Joseph Allen."

Jocelyn ripped her glasses from the nip of her nose. "And the screenings and anti-ability fields? Nothing to suggest this is some illusionist impersonating a dead Prime Minister?"

"Nothing of the sort, Mrs. Prime Minister. It seems that he is the real thing."

A bolt of fear ran down Jocelyn's spine. So Joseph Allen had come from the dead? No, couldn't be. There was something wrong with this picture. She turned off her televisions and ripped off her earpiece. "Let him in," she called.

The man who entered was unmistakably Joseph Allen. His hair, of course, was in a slightly shorter fashion, but his choice of clothing was still rich and classic. He had that august air about him, but with an unhappy scowl as he glanced around for a split second.

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure of meeting, Mrs. Kimball," he held out his hand, and Jocelyn, in a confused trance, stood and shook it.

"No, but I do believe we would have met if you were not dead, Mr. Allen," she said, and sat. "Please, sit down."

Adam sat. "Didn't anyone tell you? No? Oh, good people. No, Mrs. Kimball, I was not _actually_ dead. Though I was... not... here. " He started to speak with his hands, and Jocelyn barely followed. "I was stuck somewhere in someplace for a while, but the important thing is that I'm here now and you, my dear, are ruining my country-- no! My dear, are ruining the world."

She was astounded. She returned with, "What? Y-- Me ruining the world? You were ruining it first, with all your..." she made some flamboyant arm motions, "policies! Running it into the ground and left Walter to pick up the pieces!"

He rolled his eyes, taking her coffee mug and sipping it a little. Jocelyn watched in horror as he spit it out and made a disgusted face. "But see, it doesn't matter what I've done, because you've let Europe separate. I would have never let any such thing happen."

"Europe needed to separate! It was... inevitable!" Jocelyn argued, snatching her coffee back.

"It was not. It was the worst mistake anyone could've ever made. Now, with the very idea of split communities for each ability is going to lead us right to the end of the world. Thank you, Mrs. Kimball. Thank you very much."

She stood now, fuming. "Firstly, what was a mistake was... was your ways, Mr. Allen. People should always, always have a choice of how to live their life and if they want a colony in the middle of nowhere, then well! So be it! To force them to live an-any other way is completely immoral, and it is about time that that has been fully realized. Secondly, you don't-don't you dare blame me as if I was the antichrist. If you'll blame anyone, you'll blame the-the whole Individualist's Party, and then blame your own Primist's Party for not standing against us in your absence."

Jocelyn sat back down and seemed pleased. Adam stood up this time, with lazy, unconvinced eyes.

He started in a soft voice, "Mrs. Kimball, you do know that you're just a puppet. A pretty face to drive your party into power. They don't tell you a damn thing, not even that I was really alive. I'm not even sure that anyone has told you that without the given situation, you would have never survived in politics at all. So let me just say that you're too foolish for me even to give you the time of day. Foolish and immature..."

Adam stood up, leaving for the door. He finished with an excellent strike, a admirable curve of a ball, a "...just like your father."

"Wait! Please, Mr. Allen!" Jocelyn bolted out of her seat. She slowed, trying to forget him just so casually insulting her and asked, "You knew my father?"

He spun around, milking it. "Well, of course. A lot of people knew your father, didn't you?"

"No..." Her eyes wilted and she leaned upon her desk. "I never did know him. I didn't know-- even know he was my father until I took the DNA test a few years ago. After all, he has been missing since I was a four years old. And then-- even before that, he had such a secret life that no one barely knew him."

Adam sighed, almost sympathetically, and leaned upon the desk next to her, grasping her coffee. "Yes, Peter Petrelli. I, myself, am older than most think. We were friends for a while, actually." He sipped the coffee and tried to temper his repulsion. "He was a nurse, you know. He always wanted to help people, make them happy, and had to make some hard decisions because of his ability. He was a real good man, I think. Perhaps a little too nice, but good all and all."

Jocelyn sighed. "I do want to help. I do want to be a good person for the world, but you know, Mr. Allen, it's so difficult. Look at," she gazed at her desk, "look at all this paperwork. Can anyone do anything anymore without filing for it? I'll die from being piled-- being crushed to death before I can ever do any good in this world."

He put the coffee cup down and started for the door. "Mrs. Prime Minister, that's your problem now. Granted, you have advisors left and right telling you what's good for your party, but eventually maybe they'll think up something that might help the world. As for me, I have no say in anything anymore. I'm dead to the world. And let me tell you, it sucks." His hand was on the doorknob now.

"Mr. Allen-" she walked up to him, "if... for any reason I would wish to speak with you, is there any way that... I can... for unbiased advice...?"

Adam didn't even smile. "Of course, Mrs. Kimball. Do you have a pen?"

He wrote down his address and phone number.

"If you can't find me, ask Walter or surely you'll find a way, a woman in your position."

Adam gave her a hand shake and farewell. Jocelyn shook the hand more firmly than before and thanked him. He was fully polite until he exited the building, which is when he cracked just a little smile of victory.

Check and mate.

**End of Part Three**

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this when Sarah Palin was campaigning for VP. Ha. Ha.

And welcome to the end of Part Three! Before I begin Part Four, I'll explain something to you that will help.

The Primist political party is mainly comprised of the people that got into power after Year Zero (prim- as in first). They are considered the conservative party, and believe that as long as you used your ability to contribute to society, everything would be good. And so healers became doctors and speedsters became mail carriers. This didn't quite work as well for the people with lesser abilities. They were told that every ability would be paid the same wages, but in truth, some were more useful than others. Take for example, Devin, with his exceptional hearing ability. The only jobs available for those kind are the odd-and-ends.

These kinds of people formed the Individualist party, the liberal party, who believed that the Primists had it all wrong. They wanted people to live with their own abilities. And so all the mind readers would be in a city where everyone wouldn't speak because they could read each other's minds, and wouldn't be in so much trouble for accidentally reading other people, etc. Most importantly, laws would specifically apply to them, and could be more tailored to their wants and needs.

Their ideals eventually became the most popular, so then they had a war to decide what peoples got which land. Naturally, the more powerful abilities came out on top, but the less powerful ones still made out with enough. Now, the problems were that all of the healers were having a dandy time in Barcelona, and all but a few refused to heal anyone else. Without the mix of abilities, the communities had to make do, and although they had more freedom and some were happier, most others were not.

But somehow, it worked. They came to terms with each other and went on with their lives.

And so begins Part Four.

Which may be found here: **/s/4690774/1/The_Monroes_Winter_Nights**


End file.
